No Fragile Thing
by Alyssa2
Summary: Deconstructing Jemmy J. Adams.


No Fragile Thing  
  
-  
  
For as long as he can remember, Jemmy J. Adams has wanted to be a cop.  
  
He can't trace it back to any one time. If he tried, he might come up with that cop movie he watched once when he was eight, and how heroic the main character was, and how much he wanted to be like that. Or he might come up with the time when he was playing at the park, and wandered away, and got horribly lost, and finally sat down and cried for hours, watching the sun go down and wondering if he would die... until finally there were headlights glaring on him, and men in uniform stepping out of the car, and one of them asking him gently if he was Jeremy Adams. He might remember the way that policeman had had his partner drive them back to the park while he sat in the passenger seat and held the sobbing boy and assured him that everything was going to be all right now, and he was going home.   
  
Or he might remember the time when he was fifteen and a female friend of his just barely escaped a would-be rapist, showing up at his door with ripped clothes and a face streaked with tears; and how she stayed there all night with him, sobbing in fear, and how he wished he could have done something more than merely consoling her after her miraculous escape, wished he could have stopped the incident from happening at all.  
  
(He might also remember, on a tangent, how glad he was that night that he was gay; otherwise she wouldn't have felt safe in his arms and he wouldn't have been able to help her at all.)  
  
He could wax rhapsodic about any of a million small events, no one of them strong enough to make his decision for him, but each one of them pushing him a little farther, inspiring him a little more. That, he will eventually say, is why he can't find the one turning point. He has just always wanted to be a cop.  
  
His mother didn't want him to. She has always fussed over him; he has never been as tall, as heavy, as powerfully built as other boys. That and his long-understood sexuality have always led her to fear that he is fragile, that he would break like glass at the wrong touch, that police life was too hopelessly dangerous, oh, Jemmy, dear, won't you think of something else?  
  
(No, he told her, I want to be a cop.)  
  
His father didn't want him to. He worried also that police life would be too dangerous, but for different reasons. He has never been homophobic; he greeted each and every one of his son's long succession of high school boyfriends with a smile and pleasant conversation. But he had always been terribly, terribly concerned about what the world might do to his Jeremy; what the often hateful world could do to his vulnerable homosexual son.   
  
(Dad, he begged, I can take care of myself.)  
  
Please, Jemmy, his mother had cried. My little Jemmy, please, I'll worry myself to death --  
  
(She has always called him Jemmy; as a baby he could not pronounce the 'r' and so gave himself a new name. Even now, it sticks.)  
  
Jeremy, this isn't the smartest move, his father had frowned. I don't want anything to happen to you.  
  
(His father has always refused to call him by his mother's baby-talk name. It both annoys and amuses him that his son continues to use it.)  
  
Please, they both said. We don't want you to get hurt.  
  
JJ had long ago grown tired of being coddled.  
  
-  
  
He submitted his application to the police academy.  
  
He was accepted.  
  
His mother was wrong. For all that he is thin and small and sweet-faced, her Jemmy is no fragile trinket. Practicing hand-to-hand combat, he consistently outlasted nearly everyone in his class.  
  
His father was wrong. All his friends at the academy knew he was gay, and did not turn on him; a favorite pastime of theirs was to tease JJ daily about whether he had a boyfriend yet, and if they could come to the wedding.  
  
He graduated high in his class. Not valedictorian. Not salutatorian. But not too much farther down.  
  
He treasures still his graduation day, and the memories of his time in the academy. He carries his gun and his badge with pride. He holds his head high knowing that he is NYPD; just as he's always wanted to be.  
  
Whether through charm or skill or luck, JJ has never seemed to have any trouble reaching his goals.  
  
And that is why it never occurs to him that he simply cannot have the man he loves.  
  
-  
  
Jemmy J. Adams cannot pinpoint the exact moment when he fell in love with Dee Laytner, either.  
  
He met Dee one day during target practice, some time after his first semester there.  
  
He had seen the young man around before, certainly. He was hard to miss with his self-assured posture, his striking black hair, and his characteristic grin. But before, he had never paid so very much attention to him, except once in passing: Dee came into the academy with a ponytail down to his shoulders, and one day it was gone; JJ had vaguely mourned its loss, complaining to his friends about how it was a shame to cut such nice hair. But he had laughed, and the conversation had turned to other things.  
  
It had, then, been surprising and a little bit awkward to suddenly hear a smooth voice behind him at the range, swearing over the accuracy of his shooting.  
  
Sorry, Dee had said after JJ had jumped and nearly fired his gun again in surprise. Shit, I've never seen anyone shoot that well, that's not fair.  
  
Sure it is, JJ had said with a grin. Just because you can't--  
  
Shut up, the other boy growled, but without real heat. JJ saw a glitter of amusement in olive green eyes.  
  
They exchanged names, laughed over something trivial, and parted ways for the day.  
  
JJ wasn't in love yet. That didn't stop the onslaught of playful teasing and catcalls when he collapsed into his bunk and offhandedly mentioned that that Dee Laytner guy was kind of cute.   
  
He'd thought the teasing silly then.  
  
-  
  
Dee could be dangerous, JJ later learned. He would take in their training as well as anyone, but usually at his own pace and in his own way; he wanted to be a cop as much as anyone there did, but there was an edge to him. Something not quite tamed.  
  
JJ remembers one time during a hand-to-hand combat class, when Dee fought dirty. He stood and gazed at the instructor with disinterest even as he was being chewed out for his conduct. His response was logical, well thought-out, and tactical - which JJ suspected had only pissed the instructor off more. Dee had explained in detail all the possible maneuvers available to a street-trained fighter which could easily escape the attack he had been told to make; he had merely allowed for each and every single one.  
  
The instructor had bellowed that if Dee was going to be a cop, he had damn well better start acting like one, and that Dee wasn't on the backstreets of New York anymore.  
  
JJ had asked Dee about that later.   
  
After Dee's short explanation, JJ had further inquired - why did Dee want to be a cop?  
  
Dee had talked, then, about the policeman Jess Laytner. He said very little, but JJ felt he understood.  
  
And then Dee had grinned, winked, and said, or maybe I just want to be on the right side of the gun from now on. You decide.  
  
JJ stopped and stared mutely as Dee kept walking, laughing.  
  
He still wasn't in love yet. But now he was fascinated.  
  
-  
  
By the time they graduated, JJ had long decided that Dee Laytner was the man he wanted. The friendship the two might have had did not weather his advances well; but he tried, and would never stop trying, too far in love to realize what he was driving away.  
  
(He will realize this, much later, after watching Dee's own fall for a man with brown hair and Japanese-black eyes and a gentle smile; watching, failing to stop, and finally, reluctantly, accepting.)  
  
(He wants to hate this man, this Randy MacLean, this Ryo - but he will never quite manage it, because he has never been a man much inclined to hate.)  
  
He is still trying. He has not stopped hoping, he is not broken; he is no fragile thing.  
  
He can still believe that Dee may love him yet; as long as he can believe that, he will not turn his back.  
  
If he can admit to only one flaw, it is that he has always been far too good at believing. 


End file.
